Pump Me Up

I am a self-admitted gym rat. Always have been since moving to California.

I guess it should come as no surprise as my father was also fond of lifting weights, swimming and bulking up. Though in his case it might have been more about surviving the tough streets of the Bronx during the tumultuous late 40's and 50's. 

And pummeling anyone who called him a Dirty Jew.

Back in the 90's, when I worked at Chiat/Day, our offices were right next door to Gold's Gym, the Mecca of pec-building and calf-inflating. Not to mention endless self-pumping and mirrored self-admiration. I might have been a little intimidated by it all, if I didn't find the primming and posturing so damn funny.

Nevertheless, these were good guys, and gals (?), who were always there to spot, encourage and offer secret tips to packing on muscle. I also followed their nutritional cue and ate at the little Protein Palace up the street. This was Keto before anyone had ever uttered the word. 

There was nothing these folks could do to get enough protein. I think even the toilet paper in the bathroom was infused with amino acids to maximize intake.

I was always surprised by how few Chiat employees took advantage of the friends and family and feeble body discounts. And the unbeatable proximity.

Actually, it was beatable.

Years later I found myself freelancing at the Crispin Porter office in Santa Monica and they had a full gym right on the premises. Not only were they paying me an exorbitant day rate, they were paying me to burn calories and shed weight. 

Bingo! 

Unfortunately they were not so receptive to any of our ideas for their client Infiniti. Not that I fostered any illusions that they would. I had worked on the Infiniti account for several years and knew they were notoriously unsophisticated in their marketing. Since their initial Rocks and Trees campaign, they have done nothing worthy of any notice.

Hence, the insider moniker, "Infiniti, Four i's, no vision." (unaccredited for discretionary purposes)

And now my gym-to-work balance couldn't be better. 

I work from home. And my gym is upstairs, in what used to be my daughter's room. In the form an overused Peleton which affords 20 minute high intensity workouts whenever I damn well choose. Or my garage which I plan on finishing off with drywall and those cool rubberized floors, previously only available to really rich people. 

But I have found a loophole. 

I just read an article, complete with credible medical evidence, that exercise followed by a shower, can actually produce an increase in creativity. And while I'm hardly at my most creative in my current position, it can be safely argued that this "home improvement" is in furtherance of my career, even in its quickly-dimming sunset years.

So, thank you readers and fellow US Taxpayers for subsidizing my fitness regimen. When the new Rogue rack gets installed and bolted to the floor, and I successfully muscle up 300 lbs. on the bench, I'll provide further pictures.